She Was the Quiet One

“Good, it’s settled. Come to the field house this afternoon at three forty-five, and we’ll get you squared away with a uniform.”

He glanced at his watch, which made her sad. She didn’t want their meeting to end.

“I have to get going,” he said. “It’s later than I thought. I’m glad we had this talk, Bel. Everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be happy here, I promise. Okay?”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He stood up and glanced around quickly, making sure that nobody would see. “C’mere, you seem like you could use a hug,” he said, holding out his arms.

Bel didn’t hesitate. She stepped into his embrace and gloried there, letting herself bask in the warmth of his body, his breath against her hair. She drank in the scent of his shampoo, which made her think of the ocean, of sandalwood. She would’ve stayed like that forever, but he released her, and stepped away.

“Okay, see you at the field house later,” he said.

Then he was gone.

The air felt cooler now—fresher, sweeter, and it smelled of flowers and grass. Somewhere somebody mowed a lawn, and the buzz of the lawn mower was cheerful to her ears. Bel started walking toward Moreland, and the deep green of the trees and the grass was pleasing to her now. There would always be a before and an after. A before and an after their talk. A before and an after their embrace. Before, she was lost, but now, a light shined on everything she saw. Bel could go tell Darcy and the seniors what happened, and bask in their envy. But she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to share this. Her friendship with Heath Donovan was her secret, hers alone.

9 (#ulink_af6b3636-ae03-5fd8-8551-31e68db2703b)

“He just got glasses yesterday, poor thing, and doesn’t quite know what to make of them,” Mrs. Donovan said. Rose sat at the Donovans’ kitchen table, holding little Scottie in her lap. The air was fragrant with the scent of the chocolate-chip cookies fresh from the oven. The child fidgeted with the bright-green eyeglasses attached to his head with a strap, so Rose held him away from her and made funny faces to distract him. He watched her solemnly, his eyes behind the lenses wide as saucers.

“You’re so good with him,” Mrs. Donovan said. “Do you babysit?”

“I’d babysit for this guy anytime. He’s the sweetest,” Rose said, lowering her nose and drinking in the scent of the child’s flaxen hair.

Mrs. Donovan laughed. “I’ll take you up on that. He is a sweetie. He was a preemie, you know. He doesn’t talk much yet. He’s a little delayed. Watch out, though. His sister is a holy terror, and it’s a package deal.”

“She seems so fun. Is she here?”

“Harper is fun. She’s a handful, though. She’s in her room playing Goat Simulator on the laptop, so we can have some peace and quiet.”

“Playing what?”

“Goat Simulator. It’s this video game where the kid pretends to be a goat running wild in a town. It’s actually a pretty good metaphor for Harper’s life, come to think of it. Anyway, she’s obsessed with it.”

Mrs. Donovan placed a plate of cookies on the table in front of Rose. Max lounged at Rose’s feet, his tail thumping back and forth with the rhythm of a metronome. This afternoon tête-à-tête was like a dream come true. To be invited into a teacher’s home, and to have it be so cozy and adorable. The kitchen had an old-fashioned gas stove, a tile backsplash and pretty curtains. Mrs. Donovan had the nicest smile, and was so easy to talk to. In Rose’s old school, the teachers barely knew her name. Rose couldn’t believe her luck in getting Mrs. Donovan as her advisor.

“Tea?” Mrs. Donovan asked.

“I’d love to, but I’m holding the baby,” Rose said.

“Oh, I’ll take him, so you can enjoy your refreshments.”

Mrs. Donovan brought mugs of tea over to the table. Why did people say she wasn’t good-looking? She might not be flashy or blingy, but she had a fresh, wholesome prettiness—like a mother should. Rose’s mother had been glamorous, yet Rose had never felt comfortable with her eccentric, arty style. Done up in thrift-shop finds, with a big tattoo of angel wings on her arm for their dad. She cooked up pots of organic quinoa for dinner, but never baked cookies. Rose had secretly wished for a normal mom, someone more like Mrs. Donovan. She felt guilty thinking that, yet, if Rose was honest, here in this delightful kitchen with Mrs. Donovan, she didn’t miss her mother much at all.

Scottie went to Mrs. Donovan happily. Rose took a bite of a cookie. It was warm and gooey inside. Bliss.

“These are divine. Thank you so much for baking for me. You didn’t have to!” Rose exclaimed.

“Oh, it was no trouble. Harper helped. She loves baking—today, anyway. Five minutes from now, she’ll be on to something else.”

“It must be so special for them, growing up at Odell,” Rose said.

“People think that,” Mrs. Donovan replied, frowning. “But being a faculty kid makes for a strange childhood. We eat most of our meals in the dining hall, with a million people all around. Scottie gets overwhelmed by the excitement, and Harper eats it up. Literally. Yesterday I found three brownies in her pockets. Students sneak her extra dessert.”

Rose laughed. “That’s adorable.”

“Not when she’s bouncing off the walls at bedtime from all the sugar. Besides, it’s a control thing. How can I teach her no when there are so many teenagers around who say yes?”

“Yes, but—it’s so wonderful here, with beautiful grounds to play in. I grew up in an apartment complex in the city. Everything was concrete. We couldn’t have pets. To me, Odell feels like paradise.”

“You’re not alone in thinking that. Some people see the campus, and it’s love at first sight. My husband was like that. He lived and breathed Odell when we were students, and that’s still true. Even if he wasn’t sure about being a teacher, he knew he wanted to be here,” Mrs. Donovan said, and laughed sheepishly.

“He doesn’t like being a teacher?”

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean it that way,” Mrs. Donovan said, coloring slightly, as if she’d said too much. “Heath loves his work. Especially now that we’re dorm heads, and truly immersed in the community. He finds it very fulfilling.”

There was a false note in Mrs. Donovan’s voice that made Rose wonder how she herself felt about Odell.

“And you? Do you like your work?” Rose asked.

“Thank you for asking. I love teaching math. But I’m a bit of an introvert, so the dorm head job, living here on campus, doesn’t come as naturally to me as it does my husband. But I think it’s important work, so it’s satisfying in that sense. Historically, Moreland has had challenges. I had run-ins with girls from this dorm when I was a student here. It just seems to attract the mean girls.”

“There are mean girls here now,” Rose said.

“I realize that. And I want to be part of fixing the culture. Heath and I are trying to foster a healthy atmosphere in Moreland. But it’s tricky. We have to identify the girls causing the trouble, hopefully before they do anything too disruptive, and get them to change their ways, if possible.”

Rose wondered if Mrs. Donovan had heard the gossip. There was a rumor going around that the Moreland seniors—the same girls Bel hung out with—were engaged in a competition to seduce Mr. Donovan. Rose was so outraged when she heard that that she wanted to hit somebody. If it was true, they ought to be expelled. She had half a mind to tell Mrs. Donovan about it right now, and put a stop to it. But how awkward was that—telling Mrs. Donovan other girls wanted to sleep with her husband? It was too embarrassing, and would spoil their cozy tea date.

“Enough about me,” Mrs. Donovan said. “How are you doing, Rose? You’ve been through so much with your mom’s passing. Odell can be a tough transition in the best of times. Are you settling in all right?”

“Yes. I love it here. I couldn’t be happier.”

Mrs. Donovan looked at her skeptically. “I’m very glad to hear that, but you don’t have to say it if it isn’t true. I know you’re off to a great start academically. You’re doing excellent work in math class. I’ve also heard from some of your other teachers that you’re a confident speaker at the Harkness Table, which is a big indicator of success at Odell.”

Her teachers said good things about her. Rose nodded, arranging her features so she wouldn’t look too pleased with herself.

“I adore my classes, Mrs. Donovan. I feel so engaged, like I’m really learning.”

“What about outside of class? Are you feeling comfortable socially?” Mrs. Donovan asked.

“I’m doing so much fun stuff,” Rose said cheerily, grabbing her backpack, and pulling out her notebook. “Here’s my list so far. Auditioning for the fall play. I joined the debate team. I’m working on the literary magazine. Joined Model UN and French Club. Oh, and I might audition for the chorus. I’ve never sung in front of people except for karaoke, but I was pretty good at that.”

Mrs. Donovan looked at her in astonishment. “Rose, that’s a wonderful list. I’m very impressed. But you have be careful not to take on too much.”

Rose felt it should be obvious that she could handle anything she took on. Was Mrs. Donovan selling her short because of her background? Odell was a clubby place, and though Rose’s father’s family were old Odellians, and Grandma had money, Rose and Bel had been raised by a single mom in modest circumstances. Compared to her classmates, with their summers filled with golf and tennis, their vacations abroad and tutors for every subject, Rose had grown up underprivileged. But she intended to keep up with the Joneses in every way, and she didn’t want Mrs. Donovan doubting her.

“Don’t worry, I’m very organized. When my mother was sick, I bought the groceries, I did the laundry and the cooking. I dealt with the doctors. I even paid the bills, with help from my grandmother. And I still got straight A’s, although admittedly, my old school was easy compared to Odell.”